


Silk and Shattered Steel ( Drabbles )

by Miorjah



Series: Silk and Shattered Steel [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Dom/sub Undertones, Drabble Collection, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Style, Fantasy, Furry, Middle Ages, Mythology References, Pack Dynamics, Predator/Prey, Romance, Size Difference, Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-07 18:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21462760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miorjah/pseuds/Miorjah
Summary: Silk and Shattered Steel is a headworld and Roleplaying setting that's private/personal. These small writings are snapshots into the world of Galeya and the characters that live within it. Most of these drabbles intentionally revolve around the two main characters, Miorjah Celeste Lunehart (a unicorn princess) and Fenris Magni Svartulf (a dire-wolf king) and those within their court. These short snapshots are without context if you don't personally know the setting, and should be read with that in mind.
Relationships: Wolf (m) / Unicorn (f), Wolf (m) / Wolf (m) (mentioned)
Series: Silk and Shattered Steel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547155
Kudos: 16





	1. Preyblood

**Author's Note:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.  

> 
> Miorjah Lunehart - The Last Unicorn, the Princess of Triantá. A Unicorn princess some believe is the reincarnation or daughter of the Moon itself, moony to a fault, prideful but kind, taken from a lord-less castle and now under the watch of Fenris.  

> 
> Ashchilde Svartulf - Fenris' twin sister, Princess of Wulfheim, black as pitch that matches the legacy their name holds. A woman of tradition with a cold, calculating attitude.

“Brother, what is she?”

“A unicorn.”

The inky wolf turned to her auburn and golden brother, stood tall gazing upon the… Unicorn, in front of them, a creature dressed in pale silks and glittering gold, that peculiar opaline horn spiraling gracefully from her forehead. She looked equine, that same small ears and long snout, but too long, and her little hooves were cloven, far smaller than any equine she had seen, she was no horse. 

“What is a unicorn.” She continued, her deep golden eyes narrowing with the tense of her lip, a flash of sharp fangs.

Fenris seemed unbothered, his own golden gaze was not on Ashchilde, who stood there with her confidence stance and fearsome snarl. His eyes were on her, a creature that’s beauty had no equal in the universe, even she seemed to know so. It was humouring watching her prim and groom herself, she seemed to enjoy weaving flowers into her long ivory mane. 

Ashchilde didn't like this, Fenris was typically a phlegmatic wolf, a beast with a heart covered in ice. However, ever since he returned with this girl, he seemed utterly infatuated. He dotted on her to the point people were beginning to notice. The clansmen were not pleased, not in the slightest. His kingdom was grand, but new, many wished to join the legacy as her brother had married no one - she couldn’t even say he was wrong for it. 

Ashchilde refused to marry, she knew no would love her true, a princess of a grand legacy, the twin to the King of the North. Fenris, however, needed to marry. He was King, and a king needed an heir, and he had a vision in mind that he refused to break that the other wolf clans tried desperately to meet.

The willow-bark furred king claimed dreams since his teen years, a woman of fur as pale as the moon, and eyes that shined like stars, he held her pale curls within his claws. He told Ashchilde of holding her heart within his claws, of a woman who willingly gave her soul and freedom to him, it was then Ashchilde knew it was no wolf.

Instead, it was this woman that was sat in front of them, sitting in the garden playing with a little white pup Fenris had given her. Part of her thought for so long it would be Lucilla, a beautiful hare maiden with those same curls and a voice trained to be gentle, Fenris had adored her parents in his youth, but she was in the firm grip of her tyrannical witch of a grandmother, and a hare, she’d be tolerated, but she was no wolf.

But this girl was no wolf either, she was a Unicorn. She looked and smelled like prey, she was taller than most preybloods, yes, but she looked more passive and innocent than a newborn fawn, even her vicious anger was cute and had the clansmen laugh. The Jarls would accept her as a broodmare and consort, but no queen. To lead meant more, expectations of respect and ferocity, of a woman who knew battle, who knew song and who knew of our traditions. A southern preyblood princess would simply not do.

“The clans will not accept her.” Ashchilde’s voice was hardened, teeth tense. She placed her hands on the wooden railing and her sharp claws dug into the worn wood. Fenris finally turned to her, meeting her molten gold eyes with his own with a subtle tip of his massive head and jingle of those trinkets worn in his long mane.

“It’s not their choice, let them whine and wail.”


	2. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashchilde seeks a second council with the White Mare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Miorjah Lunehart - The Last Unicorn, the Princess of Triantá. A Unicorn princess some believe is the reincarnation or daughter of the Moon itself, moony to a fault, prideful but kind, taken from a lord-less castle and now under the watch of Fenris.
> 
> Ashchilde Svartulf - Fenris' twin sister, Princess of Wulfheim, black as pitch that matches the legacy their name holds. A woman of tradition with a cold, calculating attitude.

The door creaked as it opened, Ashchilde cursed to herself with a furrow of her onyx brows as her deep aureate eyes drifted to… Her.

The soft mare was clearly unaware, positively moony and air-headed to a fault, her pale mane and tail that piled down her back and tangled across the floor like clouds only added to that painted picture. She seemed so selfish and vain, watching her spend hours to only look like she had just rolled out of bed. She acted like a southern beauty, yes, but not -

“What do you want?” That sickly sing-song voice rung out with a touch of irritation as that air-headed mare turned, snapping Ashchilde out from her spiraling thoughts. Those shimmering blue eyes drifted across the pelt laden room to the towering inky wolf dressed in her tanned leathers. Ashchilde hated this girl, not because of her sickly voice or priming, or her kindness in the face of rejection, but because she was a living dream. 

She was Fenris’ dream, or so Fenris claimed. But dreams were not real, they lied. They painted fantasies and destroyed the history that their ancestors had built. If father could see them now…

“Why are you here?” Ashchilde spoke firm, folding her arms neatly with a creek of her stiff leathers, her long wool gown brushing against the scattered pelts as she strode ever-so confidently forward, head held high as always.

The ivory mare gave no reply, simply rolling her pale blue eyes and turning back to the mirror placed in front of her with a wave of a small hand into her alabaster curls. Ashchild frowned harder as they stood in silence for what felt like ages, watching that little unicorn mare play and adjust her hair and clothing in that pristine mirror, for once it looked mildly practical, her hair tucked back in golden bands that matched those bindings Fenris gave her for all to see, she barely took them off. 

Ashchilde felt a mix of disgust and envy, at a creature so content with a chained existence that defiles a history and legacy she didn’t even bother to know. Fenris refused to listen to reason, and this white mare plainly refused any words that Ashchilde could give her, after their first conversation, Miorjah refused to speak to her.

Miorjah, a peculiar name for a peculiar creature. Ashchilde knew of no creature with a name like hers, not a fairytale, nor any records. She was an enigma, a dream. She’d ruin Fenris, dreams fall apart and unravel. 

Just what would she unravel frightened Ashchilde… She’d weaken Fenris, their children would be meek, fragile preybloods. Could Unicorns even breed with lesser races? Perhaps that was why there was so little of them even existed in the first place. Would the kingdom die with him? Who-

Ashchilde finally realized in that moment, the legacy would fall on… her. It sent a shiver down her spine in a peculiar way. She always had to pick up her brother’s messes, but when he became King, she thought he had finally learned. It had been ten years since the Dragon fell, and it’s skull still laid within Wulfheim, a treasured site. She had grown, she was a powerful princess who could weld a blade and a pen, intelligence beyond compare. Fenris was a true King who’s fangs quieted even the most barbaric of warriors, a leader… a hero, even if his temper betrayed him. 

Miorjah was a carefree, lackadaisical creature who cared about nothing more than what satisfied her. A prideful divine who both acted equal and mightier-than-thou, who painted a picture of perfection unachievable by anyone but her… She seduced her brother and was now doing so to the kingdom, those who only saw her beautiful visage and kind words painted her as a blessing, the last unicorn graced Wulfheim, how simply kind of her, oh what great fortune she will bring, it boiled Ashchilde’s blood. 

“I need to leave, Fen wants to take me riding.” That alabaster mare slowly stood up and brushed off her lavender gown and turned to Ashchilde. “He tells me everything, you know.”

Ashchilde was smart enough not to snap as Miorjah turned and walked away with all that poised grace she always had. Ashchilde paused after she left, her eyes wandered the room quietly, before they settled on that sprawling, unmade bed. Ashchilde slowly walked over to it, her golden eyes slowly drifting to the books strewn about. 

“Frœði ór Regin” Ashchilde frowned, flipping closed the second book, “óljúg-fróðr”.

At least, she listened to Fenris.


	3. The Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucilla, once nearly betrothed to Fenris, seeks council of the Gryphon archivist that has been loyal to the Svartulf line for generations, seeking knowledge of how this foreign creature could steal Fenris' heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Miorjah Lunehart - The Last Unicorn, the Princess of Triantá. A Unicorn princess some believe is the reincarnation or daughter of the Moon itself, moony to a fault, prideful but kind, taken from a lord-less castle and now under the watch of Fenris.
> 
> Lucilla Highgarden - Heiress of House Highgarden, "The Beauty", The only living heir of house Highgarden, a snowshoe hare controlled by her grandmother to seek control over the beastly clansmen and the crown. While manipulative, it's clear she thinks she's doing the right thing.
> 
> Garth - Archivist, Librarian, ex-warrior. A gryphon who has been loyal to the Svartulf line for sixteen generations, once barbaric and vicious as most expect, he instead now cares over the massive library of Castle Black and works as Fenris' historic adviser and close friend.

“Garth, I have a question for you.” Lucilla asked as she strode across the library, a prick of her white ears as her small hands rested on the Gryphon’s desk. 

“Yes, Lucilla?” Garth asked, he was a peculiar creature, a kestrel-like gryphon with the legs of a lion, strikingly traditional and strikingly handsome and he knew it. He knew everything, or well, Lucilla thought he did. He always had an answer.

“What is a Unicorn, people say she’s like you, but not... how.”

Garth’s sharp beak clicked as he leaned forward on his wooden desk, clawed hands clasped at each other and his chin rested down upon them. “Like all those who were made with Gaia’s magic and stardust, they are Divines, like I am. Created long before Gaia’s scales were burned.”

“T-that, I know that. But what are they, what-”

“What is she, you mean.” Garth spoke coolly, tilting his head as he gazed down on that little white hare with fierce forest green eyes, He watched Lucilla recoil for a moment, then give a sigh of defeated curiosity at the possible knowledge that Garth could give her.

“Yes.” she grumbled, resting her chin down on the desk, Garth quirked a brow.

“The unicorns were created to be the soft hand of balance - “The mother”, the gentle hand to guide and teach all. They were the guardians of nature, flora and fauna. While the Father, the Pegasi, guarded the skies and seas. The Unicorn was to be our monarchs, to care for the fertile lands, keep them in balance, it’s why they never came here.” The gryphon grinned at the last bit, hearing the whistle of the northern winds beat against the window behind them.

“T-thats not!” Lucilla protested, Garth lifted his head and raised a hand. 

“I’m not done, learn patience, hare.” Lucilla felt embarrassment touch her cheeks and crawl up her spine, she drummed her fingers against the wood as Garth leaned back in his chair with a flex of his massive wings. 

“Stupid creatures kill them, destroying that endless pure magic stored within them. Passionate creatures of emotion. Miorjah is one of them, if not the last of them. She’s what’s left of the Mother, her mother. The moon.”

“I- what?”

“There wasn’t always a moon. The seas used to be still, the night used to be an endless dark. Then the first Unicorn crafted by Gaia’s claw decided that the world needed her to be something more, to protect them from the hellbeasts we’ve long forgotten, so she became the moon. The unicorns closed themselves off, then. Without their beloved immortal queen to guide their every moment, they all slowly faded away as our kin does. They were made for her, as were many of our people - it’s why we are but wisps of a once mighty empire.”

Garth paused. “The divines, that is. Your people live and breathe and die, it’s something you expect. Immortality isn’t true. But…” He paused. “Miorjah is a peculiar creature, she refuses to speak of what happened to the rest of them, but she does not fade, instead she gazes up to the moon as she does not know what it is, but yet a longing to return. Old tales spoke of a child like her, a Princess, as she states. You worry too much about her.”

“I-I’m just.. Curious on what makes her special.” Lucilla admitted, her slowly standing back up tall and turning her head away in shame.

“That, little girl, is a question for the King, not me.”


	4. Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miorjah thinks over what it means to be a mortal wolf, and her love of Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Miorjah Lunehart - The Last Unicorn, the Princess of Triantá. A Unicorn princess some believe is the reincarnation or daughter of the Moon itself, moony to a fault, prideful but kind, taken from a lord-less castle and now under the watch of Fenris.
> 
> "The Hell Beast" - A Monster wearing a Man's skin, a Soulless Bull with blind eyes.

He was a beast, there was no question about that. The dire wolves had a curse, unlike their brethren, they had slowly turned back to their primal, beastial ways. Four-legged wolves were vicious, apex predators that fiercely guarded only themselves, only those of their blood, no other. They howled at the moon and growled and snarled as they found pleasure in the hunt and in bloodshed. Predators, they were.

Fenris was one of them, it was in his bloodline, back farther than his name, and the clans as a whole. He was an intelligent wolf, of course, but still a beast. A product of a world that fostered that, something Miorjah could never understand. She didn’t understand this inherent lust of predators, and fear of prey. She was above it, but she wanted to understand, she felt like she needed too. 

There was no true primal aspects to her being, there wasn’t anything that came from the land as he did, for a moment she felt ashamed. Then she remembered that this was a blessing, to not be controlled by instinct… to not be a beast. She had instincts, all did, but she could ignore them, push them to the back of her mind and more on with her knowledge. 

She learned quickly that wolves were fierce about their mates, even potential ones. It was common for fights to break out over especially eligible maidens and bachelors. She quickly found being a unicorn didn’t dismiss her from this, part of her wondered if these self-absorbed males who fawned after her were doing it for what she was, or intentionally to spur Fenris into a frenzy, it was hard to tell. She hated all of them, she had met chauvinistic men before, flirtatious men who held women in both hands, but not men like this. They respected honor, it was not because she was a helpless woman who needed them, but because an unmarried soul was one to be pursued. She learned that “no” was an answer that needed to be barked and snarled and not simply spoke. 

Fenris listened more than not, he seemed to know her gentle demeanor needed it, pushing her boundaries as their relationship had formed and not before. He knew her as she was, not a pretty face for them to torment. Miorjah was thankful that he had no hesitation or restraint on chasing them off and making it clear who she belonged to.

Sometimes, she worried that belonged felt like a strong word, owning another creature was usually left for loyal pets, not wives. But it made her feel so safe, it had a permanence, who would give up something that belonged to them? It made her forget her times in silver chains trapped in that hell beast's castle, of him touting her like some sort of trophy to his hellish court, giving her those nauseating promises of her eternal chains to his molten heart. 

She hated him. Fenris did not know why and what had happened, but he knew what she needed to forget that, for the burning chain that monster had around her soul to shatter to pieces, it had been replaced with a binding Miorjah welcomed. One of love, one that he wanted from her as equal, one that was… good, and one that was willing. 

She loved Fenris, even his terrifying often icy and stoic demeanor somehow calmed her, it was how he was. He was a silent man, his comfort was often physical, a touch or a resting of his massive maw on her shoulder, feeling a heavy heartbeat that made her own flutter. He knew himself well, how much his claws could press before he’d hurt her, and he watched them well, he knew what he was, of what it meant to be an apex predator. It suited her well, only in his arms would she submit like prey, and she did so gladly. 

He was the only beast she could love, all treated her as lesser, as a toy or a child, but he saw her as an equal. He promised her that would be always, and those around him would learn, she’d be his queen, after all.


	5. Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has left his guard captain, Frida, in charge of Miorjah's protection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Miorjah Lunehart - The Last Unicorn, the Princess of Triantá. A Unicorn princess some believe is the reincarnation or daughter of the Moon itself, moony to a fault, prideful but kind, taken from a lord-less castle and now under the watch of Fenris.
> 
> Frida - Captain of the King's Guard, Fenris' childhood best friend, Really fucking gay. Her and Fenris are quite similar, but she's far more charming and at times flashy.

“Head up! Shoulders back.” 

Miorjah let out a pained squeak, her arms were starting to hurt, her icy blue eyes drifted to the towering red furred wolf woman stood in front of her with those judging eyes, green as pines. She felt so small. She trusted Frida, and Frida seemed to like her, even if it was in a sisterly, demeaning kind of way. 

“Hoof a touch back, Little mare, you know this.” Frida spoke with arms tucked behind her back and eyes firmly on the unicorn in front of her. Fenris asked her of two things, to keep her out of harm's way while he was gone, and to teach her to fight. She was far to dainty for swords and armor, a bow properly suited a delicate prey-like creature. 

Miorjah, however, did not think a bow suited her, or any of this. Fenris was not wrong, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. She felt the bow tug at her fingers and it hurt, she’d cry if she developed callesous. Could you wear gloves and fire a bow? When would she ever need to fire a bow! Her magic protected her. Her mind spiraled for a moment as her eyes wandered over the armored, muscular dire wolf in front of her, Frida reminded her of Fenris, she was getting a touch lost, she missed him when he was gone.

The sun hit her eyes as Frida moved, it made her flinch and her pale eyes flutter, she hated the sun, it was only pretty at the last moments of sunset, before the moon sparkled across the sky and the world was at peace again. Miorjah turned her head away for a moment to regain her sight.

“Eye on the target!” Frida snapped again, having Miorjah jump and then settle, her eyes drifting to the painted target far in front of her.

“Good, Tighten the string.”

Miorjah pulled on the bowstring as hard as she could, feeling that straining sound hit her perked ears.

“Deep breathe.” Frida’s voice was hushed now.

Miorjah inhaled as sharply as she could, feeling the tightness of her bodice.

“Let go.” 

Miorjah’s eyes closed as her fingers finally released the bowstring, that snapping sound echoed in her ears as she let the bow drop and brush against her thigh and tangle in her long tail. There was a moment of silence before she heard a low “thunk”. She didn’t open her eyes.

“Good. Best yet.”

Miorjah’s eyes opened in that moment, she glanced back at Frida, who stood with her hands now resting on her hips, then Miorjah’s pale eyes slowly drifted to the tree target with the arrow sticking in the painted circle, then driving to the selection of arrows in the grass and the base of the trunk. It took all the restraint she had in her body to not jump for joy and do her little dance, it still came out in a swish of her long tail and a smile, but she had to hold her composure.

“You learn fast.” Frida said, another compliment that had Miorjah stop in surprise and turn to the wolf woman, “Really?” She asked, Frida nodded with a subtle grin.

Miorjah went to reach for an arrow from beside her, fingers tickling over the feathers as she pulled it out, then notched it and returned to that stance, she slowly pulled back the string, then paused as her eyes drifted back up to Frida, who was staring off in the distance.

“Trust yourself, little mare.”


	6. Queen Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan, Fenris' mother, joins Miorjah in the garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Miorjah Lunehart - The Last Unicorn, the Princess of Triantá. A Unicorn princess some believe is the reincarnation or daughter of the Moon itself, moony to a fault, prideful but kind, taken from a lord-less castle and now under the watch of Fenris.
> 
> Morrigan Svartulf - Queen Mother, exiled from her clan at a young age as she searched for a destiny that did not meet her clan's expectations. Eventually she joined Clan Svartulf and became a powerful, fearless shieldmaiden. It was even in time she fell inlove with the Chieftain's eldest son, Fenrir, eventually being married and giving birth to Fenris and his twin sister Ashchilde.

“Miorjah?” Her voice was soft, for a wolf, but still that light growl that had Miorjah’s ears perk as she released the rosebud in her small hands.

Morrigan was an intimidating woman, Queen Mother now by right, but a once exiled shieldmaiden and she had the scars to prove it, even on her graying face. Fenris took heavily after her, while he was towering and hulking, his fur was equally as soft mahogany and sand as hers was, his visage was more regal and eyes fiercely intelligent instead of soft. Morrigan raised him well, and she was one of the few that didn’t seem to mind Miorjah’s existence.

“Y-your majesty,” Miorjah said quickly, her giving the wolf queen a small bow as she gently placed down the pruners in her hand back on the table beside her. Morrigan gave the little unicorn a gentle smile and a bow of her head in return.

“I’ve seen you’ve taken up single handedly cleaning up the garden.” The wolf slowly walked to beside Miorjah, deep sea-green eyes wandering over the nearly bloomed roses. “It’s beautiful, you seem to bring them to life with just your touch.”

Miorjah’s starlight-blue eyes drifted up to Morrigan, her then smiling sheepishly, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Morrigan smiled, then paused, reaching out a clawed hand to brush that wisp of pale fur from Miorjah’s face, tucking it back with the rest of her ivory curls. Miorjah swallowed nervously under her slightly forced smile.

“Little rose, are you happy here?” Morrigan asked, her gentle matronly expression unchanging as Miorjah’s big blue eyes widened in surprise. It took a moment of hesitation to think that made Miorjah feel a pang of guilt.

“I-I’m happy with Fenris, I love him... I care for you and Frida. So… Yes.” Miorjah cringed as she stumbled over her words, cupping her small hands nervously over her heart. There was a silence between them as Miorjah could feel Morrigan inspecting her face carefully, then feeling that massive paw rest down on her narrow shoulders, rough paw pads brushing against her pale velvety fur. Miorjah kept her eyes low until that grip tightened ever so slightly.

“Fair rose, I know this world is foreign for you… Our lands bred people who all want to climb and survive, while you simply want to blossom and enjoy the breeze.” Morrigan’s words were true, Miorjah felt at home again suddenly, among the summer roses. “ You’ve made my son happier than I’ve ever seen… We both cannot always protect you, but… I am here if you need me.”

Miorjah’s forced smile softened into a truthful one, her eyes gently drifted to meet Morrigan’s sea-green gaze and graying visage. She was beautiful to Miorjah, that pale sandy fur matched with the creamy white splattered around her muzzle and eyes, long brown hair tied back in a firm bun. “The thought gives me more of your strength than you’d know, your Majesty. Thank you.”

  
Morrigan’s smile brightened and her head tilted ever so slightly, that grip on Miorjah’s shoulder relaxed. “You can call me Morrigan, dear.”


	7. Gone Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble written by my lovely partner who plays Fenris, and given explicit permission to post to this gallery. 
> 
> Fenris gets roped into going fishing with some good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Lucilla Highgarden ("Luci") - Heiress of House Highgarden, "The Beauty", The only living heir of house Highgarden, a snowshoe hare controlled by her grandmother to seek control over the beastly clansmen and the crown. While manipulative, it's clear she thinks she's doing the right thing.
> 
> Hagar Glenulf - The former guard captain of Clan Svartulf, father of Frida Glenulf, and godfather of King Fenris Svartulf. A close family friend that has brought a sorely needed brightness in dark times.
> 
> Baldur Vagrulf - Younger brother of the Jarl of Clan Vagrulf, a Clan known for its shipwrights and trading. Current General of Wulfheim's armies and trusted friend of King Fenris Svartulf.
> 
> Hrefna Svartulf - A beautiful shieldmaiden and warrior, silver coated with white hair and black limbs. Known for her regal demeanor and agreeable temper.

“My King, the Squire Boy has burnt the fish again.” the deep voice of his old friend and General rung out, the silver-grey wolf’s eyes rolling as they often did when he found people and circumstances unsatisfying. There wasn’t a boom of anger or an icy grudge, he simply assessed it and went on with his strategy. He was reliable and clever and trustworthy. That is why Fenris liked him and accepted him as General all those years ago. True, he couldn’t beat him in a fight back then but he was a respectable opponent that valued honor and upheld it even as a warrior that sought to dominate his foes.

Fenris’s tired molten gold eyes and the deep sigh that escaped his lungs spoke for him. The King was a man of few words and he had had enough bad news for the day. A squabble between two families over their livestock, a brother that had slain his kin after finding him with his wife, a travelling trader that appealed for freedom after cheating poor folk with high prices on mere bread. He was tired and annoyed and all he wanted to do was eat his damn dinner. It seems even that wouldn’t be allowed today. 

“Come with me, my King. We will get some of our own.” Baldur’s head bowed slightly as he spoke, waving his King over in an inviting gesture.

“You know I hate your damn boats, Baldur.” The Svartulf scoffed, turning his head towards him in annoyance. He had leaned himself up against one of the black stone walls, his head resting against the smooth surface while he simmered to himself. 

“I know a quiet spot by the pier. Fish are biting this time of day. Come, you should get out of the castle and breath in the fresh air.” he grunts before standing at the ready, his feet planted on the ground and crossing his arms expectantly.

“I’m not a damn child, don’t give me that stance.” he narrowed his eyes at him, lifting himself up and back away from the wall before turning to face him. The King was a massive man, a head taller than Baldur and Baldur was tall for a dire wolf. The smaller wolf stood his ground even in the face of his King. He was a brave one but he knew he commanded the respect of his greater. After a long stare down the Svartulf sighed, lowering his eyes as he conceded. He didn’t have the energy to argue, and the rumbling of his stomach told him he might as well get it over with. At least it would be fresh..

It was a cold day, winter winds sending a biting chill through bodies not wise enough to cover up, a fresh snow coating the streets and muddied by all the boots stepping through the dirt roads that sprawled through the city. This was the capital of Wulfheim and he was its King. Passerbys gave him salutes and bowed heads as he walked with his General, commanding the respect of each wolf and other critter that found themselves in the Svartulf’s domain.

Baldur led his King far, outside of the city and out to a lone dock far from the busy streets and the incoming trade ships that flocked to load off their wares. A quiet clearing was lit up only by bird song and a sudden bellowing laugh. Out by the waterside a rickety dock stood dangling over the blue waters, a small vessel just big enough for two.. And their surprise guest. The bright red hair and the massive blocky figure would have been enough for most to identify the man, but for Fenris he could tell by that tone of laugh. No one in Wulfheim was as jolly as old Hagar. Memories of his days as a boy playing with Frida and their parents watching over them crossed his mind briefly. They were good days. Regardless, the deception was clear.

“You said no boats, Baldur. And now you’ve gone and dragged Hagar down here?” The King growled in irritation, those eyes lingering on his General.

“Ah! Good to see you my boy, goodness you have grown! I know it’s only been a week, but they must be feeding you good in the castle lately! I can see that belly getting bigger.” Hagar exclaimed, chuckling all throughout as he stomped up over to greet the two fellow wolves. His footsteps were heavy, the old wolf vet as tall as Fenris but perhaps a third more in width thanks to all of that blubber he carried with him. When he reached him he even stuck his paw out to pat the King’s belly teasingly, eliciting another growl and a sharp turn towards the other.

“All the better to fill with fresh fish, Hagar.” Baldur nodded at the older wolf respectfully, placing a hand on Fenris’s back and urging him forward. 

“Come now, my King. You deserve some time away from the castle. Join us for the day and rest. You will miss nothing important, Frida has been told to bark at anyone who tries to find you and scare them off.” the silver wolf smirked happily. It was a rare sight but he seemed amused at the image in his head.

“Oh my daughter is certainly good at barking, haha!” Hagar let out another of his bellowing roars as the humor spread. Fenris couldn’t help but curl up his lips and show his sharp teeth in a faint smile. They weren’t wrong. 

“I’m not getting on that boat. We can fish on the pier.” Fenris grunted lightly, brushing past the two as he made his way over to the bundle of supplies that Hagar had set up for them all. His steps on the wooden dock creaked like a toad with each heavy movement. Bending down to swipe a pole his ear perked up to hear the others following behind him to gather their things.

“Since when is our King afraid to be out on the water? You can swim - or was that just the legend twisting my memory? I could have sworn before the attack..” Baldur trailed off, narrowing his eyes at Fenris as he egged him on. They both knew well the limits of his patience and trailed the line carefully.

“Fine! Fine. You want me out on that damn boat, I’ll be out on the damn boat. I’ll aim for you when I hurl, Baldur.” The King huffed angrily, too prideful to just let him challenge him like that and not be proven wrong. It was just a damn boat.. A little shaky on the water. This would be fine. No problem.

He stepped awkwardly onto the thing, the wood shifting underneath him as he held one of his feet down to keep it in place, a clawed hand gripping its side for comfort. It would be a funny sight, seeing the fearsome warrior so uncertain, if not for the growing anger that radiated from his form. Was the snow melting around them?

Hagar followed behind him as the King settled down into the boat, crossing his arms and glowering at the other two. The burly, joyful man plops himself down into the carved wood vessel, his paws brushing along the carefully made walls. 

“She’s beautiful, Baldur. You said you made her yourself?” the red-haired wolf hummed with a proud, appraising voice. It was just like him, turning on that fatherly voice as he began to relax and stretch out his arms comfortably.

As Baldur stepped in he brought with him a basket filled with three fine bottles of some brown fluid. He untied the boat from the dock and kicked them off, letting them begin to float deeper into the lake proper. The General shifted his eyes to Fenris as he replied, setting the basket down on the floor between him and his king while he prepared his pole and pulled out a few worms for bait, piercing them on the jagged hook at the end of his line.

“I did, with what free time I find between trips. This is her maiden voyage, my King. I wanted to share it with you while you had time to flee the castle and its responsibilities. You have earned some rest.” he says simply, his eyes already going to the oars and placing his hands upon them. It was a small enough boat that it might be done by a single figure, and he seemed to volunteer himself. He was the creator, afterall. There was a pride in his eyes, but it was subtle. 

“Mmm, speaking of beautiful women -” Hagar started with a purr, raising a brow and smirking past Baldur to look at Fenris. Wonderful. Just what was that old man thinking?

“Just when are you going to be giving me some godchildren now, Fenris? I want to see little pups running around and pulling on your ears, nipping at your fingers.” he chuckled, his mind wandering to a distant memory. A light sigh of happiness escaped the elder wolf’s muzzle.

Fenris just gave him a stare with half-lidded eyes, huffing lightly.

“Shouldn’t we be fishing?” he said, trying to change the subject.

“Ah, but the best part of fishing is the small talk among men, my boy.” Hagar replied with an affectionate wink. Fenris responded by moving as if to jump out of the boat and leave them, only for Baldur to place a hand on his shoulder and push him back down. The King didn’t resist, partly due to a lack of balance on the boat, partly due to his hesitance at really plunging into the icy cold below them. Not with that wind whistling by all the way back to the castle. His golden eyes just drifted down to the water, then to his pole as he spiked a worm on his hook.

“Ashchild has a friend she told me about..” Baldur grunted as he rowed the oars through the water. It was just early enough in the year that the lake hadn’t frozen over yet. In a months time? Perhaps so. Trade thinned during those months, some longships venturing out on long journeys knowing they wouldn’t be able to return for some time.

“Ah, ah what is her name now.. Hrefna, I think? Respectable girl.. Good family.” Hagar replied with an approving nod, reaching up to brush his clawed fingers through his beard in stoic thought.

“You know I’ve always wondered about that Luci girl, personally. She has her eye on you, Fenris. She’d be a good little wife, long time friends of the clan those Highgardens.” he smiled brightly, eyes half-lidding while he reached out to spear a worm on his pole and be the first to cast his line.

“A prey-blood? The clans would riot, history or not. Don’t you want to see a wolf on Wulfheim’s throne?” Baldur scoffed, side eyeing the old man before casting his line. 

“She’s a good one, that Luci. Nice girl! Should our King not marry for love? What would that little husband of yours think, you being so focused on bloodlines?” Hagar teased, pushing Baldur in his back lightly, eliciting a growl from the silver wolf.

“Oh please, my blood isn’t important. I’m the younger brother, me having children doesn’t matter.. But -Fenris-” he turns to his King, who had simply turned around away from them and cast his line. He wanted his damn dinner, not to gossip. Besides, neither of them were the woman that came to him in his dreams. He knew it.


	8. Birthrights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble written by my lovely partner who plays Fenris, and given explicit permission to post to this gallery.
> 
> To be King, is to serve your subjects, all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Aeric Glenulf - Frida's younger brother. An honorable warrior whose family serves the Svartulf Clan. A guard in the capital city of Wulfheim.

“Two fingers.” the heavy baritone voice spoke out into the stone chamber. Sitting atop his wooden throne, carved with stylistic knots and cushioned with soft furs, he drummed his gloved fingers across the armrests, unamused. Beside him, a second but bare chair that twinned his own, unused and cold since the day Fenris had taken his place as King of Wulfheim. 

The room was lit with torches burning in sconces along the walls and with the long fire pit that stretched across the middle of the room past the raised platform he claimed. Its black coals lit with mere embers, not yet blazing for it was no special occasion. Pelts were laid down to the sides of the room, a mix of palettes all skinned from the four-legged animals that roamed the forests and mountains of the Kingdom. In addition to this, pillars held up the high ceiling of the room, carved with stories and legends of land’s history. On one, the forming of the Kingdom. On the other, tales of great heroes of the Svartulfs. The list went on, paying homage to feats and accomplishments of the Dire Wolves in the frozen northlands they called home.

Fenris’s molten gold eyes, flicking in the light of the flames and half-lidded, lowered themselves onto the figure that grovelled before him past the raised platform he watched from. Beside the figure, a familiar old face in the form of Aeric, brother to his longtime companion and Guard-Captain Frida. He was on the thinner side of dire wolves, sporting a much more athletic build that served him well sniffing out and chasing criminals in the city. The crimson wolf’s verdant eyes squinted at Fenris before giving him a nod, hand reaching for the sword on his belt only to be interrupted as the grey-brown furred figure on their knees and hands tied behind their back cried out in anger and fear,

“Two fingers?! You cripple me for taking back what was mine?!” the wolf barks, eliciting a heavy shove to the floor on the part of Aeric. While he tastes the stone floor and licks away a smearing of blood from his newly busted snout, Fenris gives him a more stern look at the outburst.

“Yours?” Fenris said simply, a skeptical tone. He snorts derisively, leaning back in his chair but allowing the wolf to make his case with a simple wave of a clawed hand.

“Mine.” the prisoner snarled angrily, shifting his body on the floor and turning his head to glare behind Aeric at his accuser with predatory eyes. A third figure had just emerged from the doorway, taking a step into the chamber as the guards allowed them inside. The figure was much smaller of stature, a lithe squirrel with rich red fur and small, feathered ears. Whoever they were, they were of no noble blood or status. They wore simple peasant cloths, sporting a fresh claw scar over the cheek. As per tradition, the accused was always allowed to see the face of who sought justice before the King mete it out. They appeared timid at first, but puffed up their chest and faced the wolf with resolve.

“That sniveling little coward never deserved that blade, he CHEATED!” the wolf howled furiously, squirming to break the grip of his rope bindings. Try as he might, they didn’t loosen.

The crimson rodent stomped forward, drawing the dragon-tooth dagger that had been awarded to them just a month ago. Each summer for five years a contender had received such a gift, the hundreds that populated the mouth of the slain behemoth so many that they had spares to save for special occasions. While the first dozens had been given to the families of the fallen in that climactic battle, the rest were used to fuel the aspirants’ pride in tests of strength on the annual Founder’s Day celebrations. 

They spoke up, a firm voice for such a little creature but perhaps the conviction in it let it carry louder.

“I won that dagger fair and square, Liut. Accept your defeat and try again next year!” the squirrel scowled, crossing their arms defiantly. The bushy tail behind him stood firm at attention. Whether it was anxiousness or some attempt at keeping his composure.

“Why you little..” Liut growled under his breath, turning his head towards Fenris in a snap,

“These preybloods don’t deserve to compete in the competitions! They weren’t here when we killed that dragon! They cowered under us and let us do all the work, let us die for their protection!” the bloodied wolf shouted, spite filling the air.

Before the squirrel could reply, Fenris suddenly leapt to his feet, standing tall to address the room, gaze locked forward. Those incandescent orbs stared daggers far sharper than any dragon’s tooth into the convicted wolf lying before him. His voice seeped with anger,

“You hold your tongue before I cut it out, boy. We may have fought the dragon, but Wulfheim is made of more than just the clans.”

The quick and brutal response stunned all three figures in the room with him, pausing for a moment. Aeric was the first to recover, taking his boot and stepping down onto Liut’s shoulder blade to hold him down in a dominating stance. He cleared his throat to address his King and childhood friend, giving a low nod of respect.

“Fenris, shall I carry out judgement?”

“Two fingers. I have spoken.”

Liut, struggling with all the might and adrenaline in this moment of panic as he could muster, found himself being positioned for his punishment. A finger for the crime of thievery, a finger for the assault accompanying it. As he felt himself being lifted up to sit, his fingers shoved against the cold stone and the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath, he did what any fool would do.

The tricky thing about cutting off extremities was the accuracy. If someone jerked or squirmed too much, they often found themselves losing more than what was necessary. This was an accepted risk. Those who didn’t have the honor and courage to face their judgement properly were not about to receive the King’s sympathy.

Liut cried in horror and pain as the sword bit through his wrist, severing the hand in its entirety. Hamon the red squirrel’s ears drooped low and he turned in disgust with his poor queasy stomach. Aeric grunted and scolded the wolf at his wiggling. Fenris simply turned around, returning to his throne to judge the next prisoner.

The role of a King was to serve his people, all of them.


	9. We laid among golden fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long before Miorjah came to Wulfheim, she was alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miorjah Lunehart - The Last Unicorn, the Princess of Triantá. A Unicorn princess some believe is the reincarnation or daughter of the Moon itself, moony to a fault, prideful but kind, taken from a lord-less castle and now under the watch of Fenris.
> 
> "The King" - Miorjah's father.
> 
> Masculine voice - Hm... I wonder.

“There is someone, somewhere, out there… searching for me… I feel it.”

Miorjah spoke to no one in particular, elbows resting on the windowsill as she stared up at the pale full moon in the deep sky before her. Somehow, gazing upon the magical celestial body made her feel safe, as if someone was sitting and listening to her as a mother comforts their child. 

Miorjah let out a long sigh as she slumped and rested her chin against her arms. “Who would be looking for me... So far away, where I can see them while I sleep but remember nothing while I’m awake.”

She let her eyes drift over the treetops, her pale starlight eyes searching to no avail. She had enough and slowly rose from her cushioned seat, letting her fingertips drift across the marble windowsill for a moment, before turning back to her bedroom.

She couldn’t remember the last time she left, part of her wondered if those times were just dreams or if they truly happened. Her bedroom was beautiful, large floor to ceiling bookcases filled with a mix of knowledge, old fairy tales and prose she had read a dozen times over, a beautiful vanity covered in any cosmetics she could wish and her beloved canopy bed covered in silks and her big cuddly blanket she spent too many nights curled up under, and that half-opened armoire of clothes she had made herself, the entire room pinks and lavenders mixed with baroque golden patterns and marble. A room fit for a Princess, but she always felt as if it wasn’t home. There was no comfort here, only a longing to leave and search for whatever was calling her, to understand why she was alive. 

Miorjah wondered what home was, then. She knew nothing but this room, from the moment of her birth this was her whole world, why would it not be home?. It felt like a cage, but cages were uncomfortable. She read stories of cages used for torture, to, break creatures or keep maidens away from their dreams… 

...Maybe this room was a cage. Miorjah strode forward with the clack of her hooves against the shined marble as she looked over the room, the books had been read and she always requested more, but father never picked out interesting things, they always were to teach. Her vanity was dark during the night, she didn’t need to prim and preen now, looking at herself for so long made her forget there were others who existed besides her, father and Namina.

She was not tired, sleep was painful in a way, she woke feeling forlorn, as if having to say goodbye to someone she wished to be eternally beside. Nothing but that feeling that there was another soul within these realms searching for her, who could not find her. It hurt, she wanted nothing more but to go and find them, but father insisted she remain hidden away. He feared the dreams, he believed it was a monster’s curse, as the old priestess had warned.

She didn’t believe it was right, but she could not do anything, he was King and a Kings word was law. Even to his daughter. She hated it, but she loved him, he was kind and just, and she knew he did this out of love, not to torment her. He only wanted the best for her, He promised her freedom would come and he would prepare her for that, but it felt so far away. She felt that tenseness in her neck and eyes that made her want to cry, but she let out sputtered sigh to calm herself.

She stood there till her little hooves hurt, till the moon was disappearing on the horizon simply thinking, flicking through her memories like a novel searching for something. But she found nothing. A flick of her tail pulled her back to her reality as she slowly turned back to the window, seeing the glimmer of the sun on the horizon.

Miorjah let out a long yawn that she let echo, rubbing her face and eyes as she slowly glanced over at the large bed. She sighed in defeat, maybe it was time to sleep. She made her way slowly to her sprawling bed, reaching up to her neck and removing the shimmery bow that kept her long pale tresses in place, letting it run free across her shoulders and down her back, tickling her knees and thighs.

She slowly crawled into the bed, underneath that big blanket and shoving her head into that bit downy pillow, curling up into a ball with the blankets hiding everything but her spiraling horn and little snout. She pulled a pillow close and tried to relax.

Maybe, she’d remember this dream if it came. She wished to remember.

It didn’t take her long to fall asleep...

_ She was in a field of golden flowers, it was warm like spring but wasn’t sweaty like summer. The sky was a pale blue and cloudless, Miorjah could see mountains in the distance, she knew they were mountains, she had never seen mountains before. She perked up as a hand rested over her shoulder, it was warm but comforting. She couldn’t see what or who it was, only that it made her feel safe. She watched the empty endless sky for awhile, before feeling whatever sat beside her lean in. _

_ “I told you, you’d like the view, little moon.” The voice was deep, decidedly masculine, far deeper and gentler than father. _

_ “Why do you always call me that?” Miorjah asked, still staring up at the cloudless sky. _

_ The voice let out a low chuckle. “You asked me to, little moon.” _

_ Miorjah frowned. “When?” _

_ “Long, long ago. When we first met, in your garden.” _

_ “...Who are you?” _

_ “Have you forgotten, little moon?” The voice somehow still sounded calm. _

_ “I think I have.” She felt her chest tighten, her gently resting her hands over her stomach, feeling a soft silken fabric. “Can’t you tell me?” _

_ “I don’t want to wake up yet.” _

_ Miorjah went silent, she felt whoever beside her shift, their massive head rested by her shoulder in the flowers. She didn’t stop staring at the sky, she was afraid. Not of them, whoever they were, but that this would end, that they were right. _

_ “Why here?” _

_ “I wish I knew, little moon.” He whispered with that deep grumble, she heard him easily. It made her heart hurt and her hands tangle in whatever she wore. _

_ Her eyes fluttered for a moment, she needed to know, she needed to see, maybe she could tell father, maybe he could go find him, maybe these dreams could end, She moved to turn her head to that voice she needed to - _

She woke up with that same forlorn feeling tearing in her chest, sweaty and tangled in her blanket that she had to kick off. She wanted to cry and scream but she couldn’t, she was afraid someone would hear her. She tried to collect herself, remember what was said, what she saw, she had to see something.

She remembered one thing and one thing alone. “little Moon.” What a peculiar nickname, why would someone call her that.


	10. The Porcelain Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble written by my lovely partner who plays Fenris, and given explicit permission to post to this gallery.
> 
> Deep within the still-shattered Wulfheim, a young Fenris dreams of a somehow familiar soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Sing-song voice - I wonder.

Under thick covers and the warmth of a crackling fire at the edge of his bedroom, the future ruler of Wulfheim slept soundly. A bed fit for the King he would become stretched out to accommodate him for years to come. Merely on his fourteenth winter, he was no great warrior of legend nor a commanding presence that had earned the respect and loyalty of all of his people. No, instead he was an up and coming warrior who was still learning to properly hold his stance while strapped down with plate armor. True, he had become proficient in the blade as any warrior did by now, but what use was mastery and strength if a quicker opponent could gut your belly faster than you could bring your sword to parry? It never hurt to protect your hide just in case, as long as you made it as much your skin as the fleshy bits below that thick fur.

In his deep slumber, Fenris Svartulf’s mind drifted to a place he had never dreamed before. It was so bright, so blinding that he had to shut his eyes. All he could do was reach out and grasp the world around him as he slowly adjusted… Taking a step forward he nearly stumbled as he found his outstretched hand touch something so very soft. Silky fine fur and a soft stomach greeted him, his wrist soon being grasped with thin, delicate fingers. Something about those hands felt so familiar, but he couldn’t tell what it was. The hand tangled its fingers with his own, soft fingers of a person who had never had to draw a bow or wield a sword or work the fields. They were uncalloused, unscarred. As he realized he had been holding his breath all this time he let out a slow exhale, eliciting a faint giggle from the stranger... Was it a stranger? Something about her told him otherwise, but he pushed the thought away as he opened his mouth to speak,

“Who are you?” he asked simply, his already deepening voice straining with confusion. There was a gentle curiosity in it, his brows furrowing slightly though he still felt so blinded by the place.

“Come on, Fenris. I want to show you the garden, I just planted some new flowers.” the cheerful, sing-songy voice of the woman answered, seemingly unaware of what he had said. She felt her squeeze his hand affectionately, giving him a gentle tug to follow. He did so.

Still blinded by some strange light he relied on them to guide him forward, the ghostly figure pacing gracefully ahead until he heard the noise of an opening door, a faint metallic cry as it squeaked and a warmth suddenly shining down on him. He could feel the open air flood inside and around him, rustling his hair in a calm breeze.

Fenris’s keen nose caught something aromatic in that air, a mix of violet and lemons. As she guided him along a winding stone path he would feel the brush of plant leaves across his arms, whatever garden they had curated here bursting with life at every corner. But even more than the greenery was this stranger that hummed a pleasant tune, lively and energizing in her mere presence. Something about her was… Just right. He felt comfortable. Safe. However long the walk was, it was a blur that he melted into until he found himself reaching out to touch the stem of a rose, his finger stopping just short of pricking itself on one of its many little spines when the woman had reached out to stop his wrist from moving further. In that moment he was finally able to blink his eyes faintly open, the world coming to view before him for only long enough to catch a glimpse of her delicate hands covered in porcelain fur. 

Fenris woke with a grumble, his own clawed hands grasping desperately at a thick furred blanket. He longed for the touch of her hand once more, instantly, in that moment. Something about her was enchanting, intoxicating, and simply… felt right.

He wanted to badly to fall back to sleep, to join her again in his dreams but as he tossed and turned in his bed, eyes shut tightly. Sleep wouldn’t come to the wolf, no matter how hard he tried. And so in the cold night he pulled away the comforting layers of blankets stacked atop his form and slipped away from his room with a groggy head. As he walked past open windows that let in the cold winter air and soft moonlight he couldn’t help but stop, turn towards it and look outside… His eyes narrowed at the crescent moon shining in the heavens above. Who was that? And… What did it mean?


	11. Blood was Red.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another honor duel ended in the death of a young warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris Svartulf - King of the North, "King of the Clans", The Dragon Slayer. A Dire Wolf with fur like sunshine and bark with a death wish and dreams that have left him with a deep fascination with Miorjah, and a love for her.
> 
> Miorjah Lunehart - The Last Unicorn, the Princess of Triantá. A Unicorn princess some believe is the reincarnation or daughter of the Moon itself, moony to a fault, prideful but kind, taken from a lord-less castle and now under the watch of Fenris.

Blood was red. This is something obvious to most animals, for all saw blood, it came with birth and it came with death. This wasn’t something Miorjah knew until she came to Wulfheim. She had never bled before, even monsters treated her like a fragile flower with thorns. She wondered if her blood was red. She, of course, wasn’t about to stick herself and she was positive Fenris would snap the neck of anyone who tried, he already snarled and snapped even at the threat.

The blood continued to spill as she pondered, eyes on Fenris’ back as he stood over that bleeding body. She didn’t really see anything else, the snow blinded her pale eyes and the barks and snarls of the wolves around her was just that. She could see the scratches across Fenris’ arms, she’d mend them once this was over and he could rest. For now he wore them with a placid pride, still panting and staring at that broken body, making sure it was dead. He wouldn’t move unless it did, he was honorable, all who challenged got proper burials for trying.

She didn’t understand why wolves tried and tried. They all fell, they watched each other fall to his blade, sometimes in moments, the best of them even left Fenris with shallow scars, none brought him to his knees or had the duels in their favor for a moment. Yet, they came and boasted and challenged their King, called Fenris weak and unworthy, insulted her in any creative ways they could that she stopped listening too. For so long she begged Fenris not to accept, Miorjah couldn’t bare the thought of losing him. He was King, so he could not refuse a challenge even if he wanted to show pitty on the pups that thought they were faster and fiercer. 

She learned that this was just life, Fenris had little wounds while they lost their lives and ended their legacies. She wondered if they were just too young to remember, even if they were older than her.

She didn’t pity them anymore.


End file.
